


The Cost of Love

by Kolivans (arka_r)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Bad Ending, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining Zarkon, Poly Arrangement, Polygamy, Reunions, Unhealthy Relationships, War, Zarkon Week 2017
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-23 18:56:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11995944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arka_r/pseuds/Kolivans
Summary: Everything in life costs. The cost of love is the indescribable grief when we finally say goodbye.Still, we are better off for having loved.(HIATUS - rewritten)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> aaayyyyy!! this is an AU i’ve been sitting for months. i finally have the courage to post this for zarkon week, because s3 sorta destroyed it haha. but oh well, that’s what’s beautiful about AU’s! you can do whatever you want, fuck whatever canon said!
> 
> title + summary from neil kaplan's tweet [here](https://twitter.com/NeKap/status/854599060250009600)

In the beginning, before the Ten Millennia War, before Voltron, before the Alliance—

 

—there was a war.

 

There was a war between the Galra from Planet Daibazaal and the people of Nalquod. Zarkon didn’t know when it started, _why_ it started, but he knew that it started way before he was born.

 

Zarkon seemed to have the most vivid memory about his dam, Emperor Diada, letting him sit on their armored thigh. He didn’t remember why his dam was taking him into this particular war meeting instead of dumping him with his nannies, but he knew that his sire, Commander Hirtuk, was off-planet at the time.

 

As the Commanders pored over the glimmering holo-map of Nalquod’s Star System, Zarkon played with his toy battle-cruiser, making fake ion cannon noises and pretending to destroy Planet Nalquod. Someone praised that he would make a great leader one day. Zarkon didn’t remember who it was.

 

That was really his only memory about it. He didn’t really understand how horrible it was, how the war affected their people. The war never reached Daibazaal, but it destroyed the outer colonies. Dalvarik, Hili, even Loria had been taken over by Nalquod’s fleet.

 

Then, he met Kolivan.

 

His dam had opened Daibazaal for refugees and Kolivan was one of them. They were a small, half Lorian-half Hilian Galra with odd red markings and odder white _hair_. Their parents were scientists from Loria and their people were not prepared when Nalquod’s fleet flattened the small science colony to the ground.

 

Kolivan was very quiet and shy. Whenever Zarkon saw them, they were always hiding behind their parent, clutching tight at their robe and staring at everyone with wide eyes as if they were terrified of everyone.

 

Looking back now, it was such a miracle that Zarkon managed to make them open up— and even befriend them. He didn’t even remember how he did it, though Kolivan had insisted that they threw their pet rock at Zarkon’s head once because his stubbornness annoyed them.

 

The war was still raging on outside their System, its presence like a constant shadow, not quite reaching them yet. People were afraid, but Zarkon rarely interacted with commoner class so he didn’t really know about it all. He was too busy with his studies and training to get out of the Palace much.

 

Come to think of it, Kolivan was the only kid his age that his parents allowed him to get close to. Their parents might be scientists, but their ancestry could be traced back to some noble house. Strict caste system was something that his parents still believed in strongly, though Zarkon couldn’t understand why. His parents said he’d understand when he was older.

 

Kolivan was also his only source to talk about the war, but still Zarkon hesitated. It seemed like a sore topic for them, and rightfully so.

 

When Zarkon did bring up the topic, he didn’t remember how. But he remembered that he had been a teenager then, barely fifty years old, and he’d declared they were having a sleepover at Zarkon’s quarters. He even had the servants prepare some snacks. He remembered that they were making a blanket fort and watching movies late into the night, when both of them were supposed to be asleep.

 

He didn’t remember what brought it up or how the conversation started, but he remembered Kolivan’s words.

 

“The war isn’t always terrible.”

 

“What do you mean?” Zarkon asked, almost immediately.

 

A shrug. “I mean… We did make alliance with the people from Dalterion Belt. And the Rygnir provide us with better planetary defense system. We are technologically more advanced now, thanks to the war”, Kolivan answered, their voice almost emotionless. There was something nagging at the back of Zarkon’s head that this was all wrong.

 

Kolivan sounded as if their birth-planet didn’t get razed to the ground, as if the war was supposed to be _good_.

 

Zarkon couldn’t understand it.

 

—

 

At age of eighty, Zarkon and Kolivan were conscripted into the Imperial Fleet, just like any other able-bodied, able-minded Galra their age did. If Zarkon hadn’t met Kolivan, he would definitely be jumping at the chance for glory, at the prospect to serve and protect their people as their prince and a Galra.

 

But he had, and something— _something_ had changed throughout the years, between a kit who sat in a war meeting pretending to destroy their enemies and a barely-adult who was uncertain about everything. Maybe it was his friendship with Kolivan that changed him. Maybe it was his puberty, as his tutors liked to tease him. Or, _stars_ , maybe it was the war itself. Maybe it was a cumulation of all these and more.

 

The war had dissolved into something even messier— interstellar politics were still something so complicated that not even Zarkon, with all his tutoring about the matter, could comprehend. The People of Nalquod somehow managed to secure an alliance with Altea. And here was the thing; at the time, Altea was considered as the most advanced civilization in the Known Universe.

 

People began to talk about how they already lost the war. There was no way they could win against Altean weaponry.

 

“It’s true. Their ion cannon can pierce through our shields like they’re made out of leaf”, Trigel shook her head.

 

There were five of them sitting around the table; Zarkon and Kolivan of the Galra, Gyrgan and Bolvar of Rygnirath, and Trigel of Dalterion Belt. Best of friends in their mutual dread and suffering in the midst of war. When their shore leave coincided, they agreed to meet at some secluded pub in the Galran Capitol.

 

Kolivan’s eyes were grim and Bolvar shuddered weakly. Both of their posting would be close to the frontline.

 

Zarkon chugged his drink to get rid of the lump in his throat. He wasn't sure if he succeeded.

 

When it was time for them to go their separate ways, Trigel pulled Zarkon away from the others.

 

“You need to tell them!” she hissed.

 

Zarkon, who was surprised by the strength of her grip, spluttered. “ _W-what?!_ ”

 

“You’ve been harboring feelings for Kolivan for years. You’re not exactly subtle, you know?” Trigel gave him a little shrug. “But Kolivan is about as thick as the hull of a battle-cruiser. If you want to tell them, now’s probably your last chance to do so.”

 

He stared at her as if she just slapped him. She might as well do so, though her face was gentle. Then, slowly, his eyes shifted to where Kolivan and Gyrgan were hugging— it was as if they were trying to savor the hug, as if it would be their _last_.

 

And the reality of it sank into him like lead in water. Being posted so close to the frontline meant that Kolivan might not make it out _alive_.

 

Zarkon was still a cadet when Altean forces blown a military base to pieces. It was one of the bigger ones too, equipped with the latest technology the People of Dalterion Belt were capable to produce. He attended the military funeral and tried so hard not to think about the twelve-hundred soldiers who died in service as his dam recited their honors and accomplishment.

 

Right now, he tried so hard not to think about attending one for _Kolivan_.

 

Zarkon shook his head. He wasn’t crying— but he was very close to. He wanted to say something, _anything_ , to Trigel, but the lump in his throat seemed to take away his voice.

 

Trigel seemed to understand, bless her hearts, and pulled him into a tight embrace that seemed to last forever. Though she was smaller than him and he had to bend down awkwardly, her grip was tight as if she was trying to squeeze all the worry from inside him.

 

“Be safe out there, okay?” she told him before they parted.

 

Zarkon and Kolivan walked together to their barrack and silence settled heavily above them. There was a gap between them that felt like a great canyon and it was only then he realized that somehow, during their times serving in different units, they had grown distant.

 

Both of them were no longer teenagers huddling in the safety of their blanket fort, although Zarkon felt like he barely grew up from that awkward teenager filled with uncertainty. He _still_ didn’t know why the war started, or if it was good at all. He didn’t know if Kolivan’s opinion about it had changed— they no longer talked as often as they used to.

 

But he knew one thing for sure: he wished he could take Kolivan into their blanket fort and protect them from all this stupid war.

 

Eventually, they arrived at the barrack. Their eyes met— and in that moment, something in him wanted to reach out, to pull Kolivan somewhere for the night and spill his hearts out. He wanted to tell them how much he loved them, how much he wanted to protect them— as their prince, their friend, their _lover_.

 

But then their eyes shifted and the moment broke, just like Zarkon’s heart breaking into several million pieces.

 

“Bye”, Kolivan said, almost a whisper.

 

Zarkon took a shuddery breath and replied, “Bye.”

 

Then, they went their separate ways.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it grows longer pl ea se he l p

If Zarkon wanted to be honest, he was starting to get sick of this war.

 

It was a long, grueling thing and it took and  _ took _ . People said he was brave, their brave prince. But being in the battlefield, surrounded by crushed sentries all around him and covered in grime— Zarkon felt anything but brave. 

 

Intense fear. That was all he could feel, clawing at his insides until he choked from smoke.

 

Trigel was right, the Altean weaponries were nothing to laugh about. They ripped through the defenses as if it was nothing, tore into their ships and left a deadly blazing streak in the darkness of space. His sire lost ships faster than their engineers could replace. The Imperial Fleet felt like a joke against the Altean Fleet.

 

There were whispers about armistice floating like ghosts amongst the soldiers, but Zarkon didn’t know what else to believe. It sounded too good to be true, but… he knew his dam would never surrender, even for a short period of time. The People of Galra were strong, his dam had told him back when Zarkon was a mere kit. Peope of Galra were proud.

 

Seeing people being thrown up high in the air, their bones broken in several places and skin torn open as they bled to their death, Zarkon didn’t think the Galra were that strong.  And pride meant nothing when he walked out of a battlefield with a deep gash across his torso, his armor torn open and tainted purple, and he cried,  _ begged _ for the medics to  _ please save his life _ .

 

Injuries felt like an old friend. They came and went faster than his brain could process. No longer he was fazed from waking up inside a healing pod. Bones mended and wounds stitched, and he would be ready for another fight, another battle. It was like a never-ending cycle.  Sometimes he still felt pain from wounds that were already gone. It throbbed and he wanted to cry out from the pain, but the medics reassured him that it was all inside his head.

 

His head seemed to do a lot of things these days. He no longer flinch when he crushed his enemies’ skull, but at nights, he was haunted by the sound—  _ crack, crack, crack _ — until he woke up screaming in terror. It was only in his head, people reassured him. It wasn’t real.

 

He was safe, his sire told him. Stop whining already and do your duty.

 

Serving aboard his sire’s ship had been his parents’ mutual agreement— all three of them for once were working together to make sure he was safe. Of course, his dam had been adamant that as the future ruler to the Empire, Zarkon needed to be on the frontline instead of cowering behind. But there were protocols, boundaries, all set to ensure the safety of the Prince.

 

Commander Hirtuk was one of the Emperor’s most experienced soldier. He had been serving the Empire for four hundred years with exemplary record and no sign of retiring anytime soon. The Emperor trained him themself and their union was mostly to produce strong offspring.

 

To be honest, Zarkon didn’t have a lot of memories about his sire—  _ fond _ memories, that was. Most of his childhood, he was raised by his third parent, Senator Zira. That was probably the reason why his sire rarely visited him— his sire and Zira didn’t get along well, but they both loved and were loyal to his dam. 

 

Unfortunately, that love and loyalty did not extend to him.

 

So Zarkon withdraw into himself. 

 

During his downtime, he’d been writing a lot. He wrote about what he would do once he was crowned emperor. He wrote about how he would support all research to better the technological advancement of his people. There would be better colonies, better space bases, better planetary defenses, better ships.

 

His people would sleep better at night, knowing that their defense would protect them from any threats. Their cities and colonies would grow and thrive. Their ships would be faster, bigger,  _ stronger _ — so they could connect to the furthest colonies better.

 

There would be no war, because he would unite them all. Unity; that seemed like an easy answer for all these pain and suffering.

 

He wrote to Trigel to ask about her research. Sometimes he got bits and pieces about new technology she and her team were building. Sometimes her replies were depressing, and Zarkon itched to reach for the bottle he smuggled under his sire’s nose onto the ship once he was done reading it. Sometimes Zarkon wanted take a pod and hyperjump straight into her lab so he could give her a hug.

 

He wrote to Gyrgan and Bolvar too, but their replies were few and far between. When Gyrgan was crowned as the new Sovereign of Rygnirath, Zarkon sent his congratulatory letter, less formal than he liked, and an apology that he couldn’t be there for his crowning ceremony. His friend said he understood, but his reply sounded a little bit stilted, a bit too formal. Zarkon paid it no mind— until Gyrgan sent him a letter about Bolvar’s passing. He never received anything from Gyrgan again after that.

 

He wrote to Kolivan too— but he never sent his message. The drafts kept piling up, until the mailing service forced him to delete them all. He stared at the empty draft for a long,  _ long _ time, feeling like someone took a blade to his torso and gutted him, again. He was saved when his sire came knocking at his door barking orders.

 

It had been… Zarkon didn’t know how long he had stopped talking to Kolivan. A hundred years, perhaps? Or was it more than that? It felt like forever ago since he saw them and he… he  _ missed _ them so much, it ached. He didn’t even remember when the last time they spent time together without having to worry about the war; it felt like that was the only thing they’d ever talked since they were conscripted.

 

Trigel was right, Zarkon had been harboring feelings for Kolivan— _romantic feelings_. And she was right that he probably should have told Kolivan about it.

 

Honestly, Zarkon didn’t know what made him hesitate. Kolivan was of good lineage— his parents wouldn’t refuse a union between them. They were strong, smart, loyal, and persevering— not to mention they were biologically compatible.

 

Perhaps his cowardice was the reason why he couldn’t admit his feelings. Or perhaps, it was his own romanticism. He didn’t want Kolivan to accept his betrothal proposition out of sense of duty, the way his sire did before he fell in love with his dam.  If he wanted to propose to them, he wanted Kolivan to see him for who he was, not  _ what _ he was. 

 

But how was Kolivan going to know him if they had been out of touch so long? Zarkon wondered if Kolivan had changed since the last time they talked. He knew he had, and he didn’t know if that change made him a better person— or bitterer.

 

Rubbing his eyes, Zarkon blinked as he stared at an unsent message for Kolivan on the screen. It was foolish, too emotional, so unbecoming of him.

 

He deleted the message and tried to type again.

 

> ‘ _ Hello _ .’

 

He hit send before he could stop himself— and once his brain finally caught up to what just happened, he had a sudden urge to throw himself out of the airlock. He threw his comm against the wall and fled to the training deck. 

 

Right now, he’d rather face a barbaric training session. Perhaps then his sire could knock some sense into his head.

 

He came back a few hours later, fresh bruises all over his body, and noticed a new message on his comm.

 

It was from Kolivan.

 

> ‘ _ Hello _ .’

 

He felt his heart flip in his side and the urge to throw himself out of the airlock returned. He was almost tempted to go for another round of ass-beating, before shaking his head.

 

He needed to do this.

 

No.

 

He  _ wanted _ to do this.

 

Gathering his courage, he typed yet another short message.

 

> ‘ _ How are you? _ ’

 

He almost dropped his comm when it buzzed.

 

> ‘ _ Please refrain from sending a burst of short messages. Interstellar communication should be reserved for important missives only. _ ’

 

Zarkon felt his ear droop, then felt a surge of confidence as he typed his reply:

 

> ‘ _ You are important. _ ’

 

Burying his face in the pillows, he screamed as quietly as possible. This was a mistake—  _ he  _ was a mistake. He quickly grabbed his comm and was in the middle of writing a few paragraphs of apology, when it buzzed again.

 

> ‘ _ Oh. _ ’

 

That… Zarkon didn’t know how to react to that. It seemed neutral enough of a reaction— were they annoyed? Did he overstep a boundary?

 

Before he could contemplate the way to slowly suffocate himself on the pillows, his comm buzzed.

 

> ‘ _ I need to rest. It’s pretty late in Naia System. Talk again tomorrow? _ ’

 

_ Talk again tomorrow _ — that was a promise. Zarkon’s heart felt like bursting in his chest. He felt like he could go for another round at the training deck and beat his sire. He felt  _ invincible _ .

 

Zarkon said his goodbye and shut his comm off. 

 

He couldn’t wait for tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

The talks about the armistice was real. The Emperor had finally caved into the pressure of the High Council and their allies. It was inevitable, at this point, and it was unlikely to hold forever. It was only a respite.

 

But for the first time in what felt like eons, there was peace.

 

People of all species spilled on the Capitol Plaza to celebrate, both Galra and Non-Galra. Servant class, warrior class, and nobility class were all there, arm-in-arm as they danced and sang at the top of their lungs. Soldiers back from the frontline reunited with their families. There were also people whose families never returned to them— they huddled together by the memorial, a speck of gloom amongst the celebration.

 

It was a bittersweet occasion that he would never forget.

 

Zarkon was there too, having discharged earlier that day, and getting lost in the euphoria. He found Trigel halfway through the celebration, dressed inconspicuously— which told Zarkon that she was not meant to be there. They hadn't let each other go since then, singing and drinking until their voices went hoarse and they were too drunk to walk back to their respective places.

 

They ended up crumpled by one of the war statues at the Plaza.

 

That was how Kolivan found them, with Zarkon sobbing uncontrollably on Trigel’s shoulders and her fingers scritching at his head crest. It was a lewd display, unbecoming for a prince like him, but Zarkon couldn’t give a shit at the moment. Not when the euphoria had caused him to crash and burn until there was nothing left but ashes.

 

“You’re crushing Trigel, Zarkon”, Kolivan helped him to sit up straighter— and that was the moment he realized that they had called him by his name. Not ‘My Prince’, not ‘Your Highness’.

 

Zarkon put his head between his knees and cried.

 

He didn’t know how long he was crying. It felt like quite a long time, until he felt all wrung out and exhausted. Kolivan’s hand rubbing along his spines felt nice, its weight slowly pulling him back into reality. He shut his eyes and let out a deep purr.

 

“Come, let’s get you home safe”, Kolivan gave his back one last pat, before hoisting him up to his feet. 

 

The ground seemed to lurch for a bit. When Kolivan let him go to help Trigel up, Zarkon vomited his stomach content at the base of the statue. Kolivan was immediately at his side, patting his back as he continued to vomit, until nothing else came out but bile and drool. It hurt and he felt gross, but he felt good in a twisted way. He felt like he deserved this. 

 

He saw a Galra cub holding a holo-pic of their parent staring at him, wide eyed. Normally, Zarkon would feel embarrassed, being caught in such state in public, but the sight of the holo-pic felt like cold water to the face. 

 

The people of Galra had lost  _ so much _ . They had sacrificed so many people, up to the point that their Emperor had to accept the armistice. Suddenly, the celebration felt less like about victory and more like about the fact that people would finally stop  _ dying _ .

 

He wondered if this was what his dam was thinking when they signed the armistice.

 

Kolivan gently pulled him and Trigel away from the Plaza, weaving through the crowd with ease. When they reached the main road, they hailed a shuttle-pod and insisted Trigel to use it so she could go back to the Dalterion Embassy. Zarkon gave her forehead a sloppy nuzzle, but she shoved him away, laughing.

 

“You smell gross”, she said. “Don’t forget to wear contraceptive, you lovestruck dorks.”

 

Kolivan seemed like they were going to retort, but the pod’s door closed and it whirred away. Zarkon felt something clench in his gut at her words and it was definitely not from the sickness after vomiting.

 

“Let’s go”, Kolivan nudged his shoulder and they began walking.

 

It took Zarkon a few moment to realize that they were not going to call another pod, nor that they were heading to the Palace. He said this to Kolivan, who looked at him with odd look on their face.

 

“Are you really sure you want to go back to the Palace?”

 

It took Zarkon a moment before deciding; no, he didn’t want to go back to the Palace. If he showed up in his current state, his third-parent probably would lose his temper and ground him forever, two centuries old adult or not.

 

Instead, Kolivan was taking him back to his childhood home— at least, the one that the Emperor had provided to the Lorian refugees. Zarkon recognized the familiar streets and landmarks. It reminded him of simpler times, back when both of them were teenagers and they hung out around the neighborhood a lot. 

 

He was always fond of this part of the Capitol. It was a humble neighborhood, almost quaint. Everyone knew each other and they definitely knew him, knew that he was their prince. But they never treated him like he was special.

 

“You can still see Loria from here.”

 

Kolivan’s voice pulled him out of his memory, and Zarkon turned to look up to the sky. They were right, they could see Loria twinkling lazily at them by its star host, close to the Dalvarik System. Daibazaal was far enough from both colonies that the light from their destruction still hadn’t reached them.

 

It was funny how space and time worked.

 

Zarkon wondered if Kolivan ever thought to grab a ship and hyperjump there, just to see if their birth-planet was still there. He wondered what would happen when they could no longer see Loria on the night sky. That wouldn’t be for quite awhile, though. 

 

For now, and the next five centuries, Loria and Dalvarik would still be there. An illusion from the past.

 

Chilly air breezed past, bringing the fresh scent of rain from the mountain range. Raining season was coming to the Capitol and Zarkon could feel it in his bones. Shivering, he put his arms around himself. It was refreshing, somewhat, compared to the stiff regulated air inside his sire’s ship. Still, he wished he was wearing something thicker.

 

He heard a quiet chuff before something landed around his shoulders. Blinking, he turned to where Kolivan was fixing their coat around him.

 

“You always get cold easily”, they said, their fingers gentle as they secured the buttons around his neck.

 

Heat crept up his face. Both of them were so close that Zarkon could count the whiskers upon Kolivan’s brows, the only remnants of their youth. They were so young, he realized. Both of them were. And yet, they had witnessed horrors that no one should have. It was unfair.

 

An old, long-forgotten urge to protect Kolivan suddenly came back with vengeance. It was so overwhelmingly strong that it took everything in him not to steal them away and kept them hidden, somewhere where their past couldn’t haunt them anymore. 

 

But then Kolivan pulled away, taking pieces of Zarkon’s heart with him.

 

“Thank you”, he managed to croak out.

 

He wasn’t sure if Kolivan had heard him. But when both of them began walking again, they slipped their fingers into his, warm and tethering. 

 

With Kolivan’s coat around him and their scent surrounding him, Zarkon finally felt at home.

**Author's Note:**

> check my [tumblr](https://xblackpaladin.tumblr.com/tagged/arkawrites) ❤️


End file.
